Jack’s Diner is crowded and busy. It smells good, like all greasy spoons do. Comfort food frying on the grill. Burgers, eggs, steaks, french fries in the fryolator. Just like Miller said, an empty table in the back is waiting for us. A waitress approaches us. She’s middle-aged with long salt and pepper hair tied back in a ponytail. She smiles at the detective.
“Booth’s almost ready,” she says. “Couple of uniforms just scarfed down lunch. Give me a sec.”
“No problem,” Miller says with a wink.
“You weren’t kidding when you said they reserve a booth for Albany’s finest.”
“If you haven’t noticed,” he says, “this isn’t the best of neighborhoods despite the police presence. We’ve had muggings and holdups right outside the precinct doors, and that’s no lie.”
“People are desperate around he
